


Let not light see

by BelovedCreation



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelovedCreation/pseuds/BelovedCreation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian wipes the blood of the dagger off on the crocodile’s tunic, steps out of the cell, and gazes at the new name in the dim light. Killian Jones</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let not light see

 

> _Stars, hide your fires;  
>  Let not light see my black and deep desires._  
>  Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 4

 

 

It is harder than he imagined it would be, sinking the jagged dagger into the crocodile’s flesh. Not that it is more difficult emotionally - he has been mentally preparing for this day since clawed fingers clutched the heart of the woman he loved and squeezed, tighter and tighter, until the organ turned to ash and the light in her eyes snuffed out. No, his skin is thicker than Killian had imagined, those scales doing more than just showing the world how he is a beast, not a man. As the dagger rips through the crocodile’s hide, Killian sighs in relief.

This is it.

His revenge has been completed.

In the last moments those scales recede back into the crocodile’s skin, leaving behind innocent pink flesh, though nothing can make the dark twist of his mouth look anything but hateful.

“Was she worth it, pirate?” he chokes, blood staining Killian’s fingers as it leaks from his chest. “Was that whore worth your soul?”

Killian twists the dagger and the crocodile jolts in his grasp, mouth falling open in pain.

“If you knew anything about love you would understand,” he grits out. Killian waits for a final retort, more hateful words, but instead his eyes gently close and Killian lets his body drop to the ground of the prison cell. As he pulls the dagger from the crocodile’s chest, his fingers are already sparkling with a shimmer of gold, his own scales erupting on his hand, just as the Evil Queen warned him. Warmth follows the path of gold, a tough hide growing on his skin and carrying with it deadly power that can be used to kill kings and bend monarchs to his will.

Killian wipes the blood of the dagger off on the crocodile’s tunic, steps out of the cell, and gazes at the new name in the dim light.

_Killian Jones_

 

* * *

 

The Schmidts are fighting again and Sheriff Killian Jones is not sure he can stand another day in this infernal town. When Regina promised to take away all the happy endings, he had assumed that meant that Snow White and Prince Charming would bear the brunt of her wrath. No, instead every couple in Storybrooke is in some state of discord. The Schmidts are the worst of the lot, their screaming matches drawing crowds and their taste for throwing pots and pans at each other making for an exciting night for Dr. Whale in the ER.

There are days Killian wants to go door-to-door and shake all of the disgruntled citizens and beg them to wake up, to remember who they are. To stop having the same fights, the same disagreements, to stop calling him to settle their petty disputes and find  _happily ever after_ on their own.

It was never supposed to be this way.

Returning to the Evil Queen’s castle after becoming the new Dark One, she had promised to take away all of his memories in the new land, that he would no longer remember the death of his loved ones or the centuries of heartbreak and loneliness.

“No,” he had whispered, surprising even the Evil Queen with his forwardness. “I don’t want to forget everything. I want to remember my brother, my- my Milah. But make their deaths peaceful. Do not let me remember their suffering.”

Something had flashed in the Evil Queen’s eyes - pity, he had thought at the time, although now he wonders if it was understanding - and she nodded.

“You shall be my dark knight,” she went on. “My second-in-command. You will help me rule the people. You shall have all the power and luxury that you desire.”

The  _power_ is to enter people’s homes without their permission and find information that Mayor Mills wants or to get free donuts from Granny’s, neither of which Killian had expected when he agreed to work with the Evil Queen. Neither had he anticipated all of his memories to remain intact from his previous life. He can still feel the way Liam had slumped in his arms and still see the way Milah’s mouth had formed the words  _I love you_. Their deaths play on repeat every night as he tosses and turns.

But these 25 years have been kind to him. Their images grow fuzzy and he can feel his heart start to heal in a way it never had before the death of the crocodile. He wonders some days if the darkness that had filled his body that eventful night would have allowed him to truly move on or whether it would have wrapped around his heart and filled him with the desire for more revenge, more death, more destruction.

Bugger all that.

Most nights he just wants a distraction from the sameness.

Killian spends much of his free time at the library. He wonders if the lovely librarian would be so helpful in finding him new and interesting reading material if she knew he had murdered the man she cared for in her old life. She has a kind heart, but he doubts it. Lacey would hate him as much as the rest of the town would, for being in leagues with the woman who rejoices in the sorrows of others.

 

* * *

 

_Emma Swan._

There is something special about her, her coming making time seem to start again. The Schmidts haven’t had their weekly row and there is a lightness to the air he has not felt in all his years in Storybrooke. Killian’s eyes are drawn to her whenever they pass on the street or she strides into Granny’s, body tense and ready for a fight.

She catches his eye today, as he dwells over his morning coffee, and she hesitates, jaw clenching as she battling with herself. She comes to some decision and strides toward him, all tough leather jacket and and sensual black lace visible through her thin white shirt. There were plenty of wenches back in the other realm with a great deal more decollage, but there is something about Emma Swan’s breasts that makes his blood race in a new and unfamiliar way.

“I wanted to say thanks for the other day,” she grunts, looking over his shoulder rather than in his eyes. “For helping me and Mary Margaret find the John Doe.”

Killian licks his lips and wishes she would look him in the eye. “Just doing my job, lass.”

Her green gaze connects with his. “I know, but still. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

He wants to run his fingers through her hair, to tug on a curl and see if she will snap at him. He likes her fire; he likes it a great deal. No one has ever stood up to Regina like she does and it makes him smile to see the witch reel back from the blonde’s verbal blows. What would it be like to have this stranger’s passion directed at him? - in anger or in pleasure he is not sure whether or not he cares.

“You were helpful as well, Swan,” he finds himself saying. “Someone with your perception and smarts would be a real asset to the sheriff’s office.”

Her brow furrows and she cants her head. “Are you offering me a job?”

He had no intention of doing so until the words leave her lovely lips and he realizes he likes the idea immensely. It will infuriate Regina, but that only sweetens the deal. It would draw the lovely Emma Swan closer to him and perhaps give him more time to work out what makes her so special that she has brought so many changes to the town in only a few short days.

“Yes,” he says with a smirk. “I am offering you a job.”

 

* * *

 

Regina docks his pay.

He checks out a stack of Shakespeare plays and laughs himself to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The first time they kiss is a few months later, although it is only a few days into her tenure at the sheriff’s office that he finds himself smiling at the scent of her perfume and wanting to trace the place on her hip where her badge rests, the tough metal contrasting with the delicate bone peeking over the edge of her jeans. He finally lets himself grasp that hip when she rushes back to the station three minutes before the lawyer arrives to meet for Mary Margaret’s interview, the pair of them with flushed cheeks and heaving chests.

“Where were you?” he asks, fist clenching in fury.

“Mary- Mary Margaret,” she gasps, hand on her heart, “got out somehow and I went after her. But there was a crazy guy who kidnapped her from the woods and he drugged me and tried to get me to do  _magic_ for him and-”

“What?” His hand finds her hip, holding her, reassuring himself that she is fine. “Someone kidnapped you? And  _drugged_ you?”

“Yeah, he lives-”

“Are you alright, love?” He takes her cheek in his palm and turns her face back and forth, searching for scrapes but finding only dirt and fatigue. “We should take you to hospital.”

“Killian, I’m fine-” she steps away from his touch and discomfort is evident in every muscle of her body. He pauses.

“Emma. Have you never had anyone fret over you?”

This is not the first time he has asked a question that makes her armor fly up, her eyes flashing and her shoulders tensing. But it is the first time the armor goes back down immediately and she actually meets his gaze.

“So what if I haven’t?”

“Oh Emma.” He takes her hand, not sure if she would accept anything more in the way of comfort. It is a great irony, that he, the loneliest man in Storybrooke, wants to chase away the loneliness from another soul. But he does - he can see the same bitterness reflected in her eyes that he felt in his heart for centuries, a need to be on one’s own to avoid heartache. “Then I am taking you to hospital,” he whispers, ”so they can look at you.”

Her fingers clench in his and it takes the barests of tugs for him to step forward, into her embrace, meeting her trembling lips with his uncertain mouth. He has not kissed anyone since Milah, it would have been an act of betrayal in his heart. But that heart has had time to properly mourn his great love and he imagines she would be happy to see him move on.

Emma is crying. He can taste the salt on his tongue and feel the moisture in his beard, but the tears feel like baptism, washing away his former life and preparing him for something new. He is no longer Regina’s dark knight.

He is Emma’s. And, if she wills it, he will be her knight. The dark curse that filled his form in another realm will never allow him to be a light knight, but for her sake, he will try.

 

* * *

 

He is at her side when she breaks the curse, encouraging her to offer a mother’s kiss on her lad’s damp forehead, and when the pulse of magic radiates throughout the town, he can feel it again, the darkness, but only for a moment. The magic dissipates and he is himself, or as close as he can be.

She clutches his hand as they make their way down Main Street, searching for her parents, Henry tucked under her other arm.

“So if my parents are Snow White and Prince Charming,” she asks, turning to Killian, “who are you?”

He hesitates for a moment before answering. “My name is Killian Jones,” he says. “But in the other realm many knew me as Captain Hook.”

Emma’s feet stop moving and she gapes at him. “Seriously?” she asks at the same time Henry exclaims, “Cool!”

Killian nods. “Aye. Does that-” he stammers, breaking her gaze, “does that change anything?” He looks down at their joined hands and waits for her to step away from him.

Instead, her soft lips brush against his cheek. “No,” she whispers in his ear. “That doesn’t change anything.” His heart stops in his chest and he presses his lips against her own, wondering how he made it here, how he found this princess, this savior. “Except,” she murmurs against his lips, “does that mean your prosthetic is going to be replaced by a hook?”

He pulls back to examine her eyes. “Perhaps?”

She bites her pink lip and her green eyes fill with something dark. “I’d be okay with that,” she whispers, too soft for her son to hear.

Killian feels his own eyes widen and his blood warms. “I shall keep that in mind, Swan.”

 

* * *

 

Patrolling the town line along Storybrooke Harbor is a flimsy excuse to take the Jolly Roger to sea again, but it is one that he gladly takes, feeling as though he is breathing for the first time in 28 years when the sails unfurl and fill with the first gust of air. He had not been able to take her to the open sea since he found her the first week in Storybrooke, bobbing on the docks and ignored by everyone who passed her. Regina would have been suspicious of his memories had he not ignored her as well so he found it safer to inspect the ship weekly, at night, and clean it monthly.

“If the hook hadn’t convinced me, this sure would have.”

Killian turns from his work at the mast to catch one of Emma’s patented sarcastic - but loving -smiles. He tugs on a rope with his moniker and strides over to her, placing his hook on the wheel and his hand on her hip. “So you believe me?”

Emma brushes her nose against his. “I never said I didn’t believe you. You’re just - different here on your ship. Different than how you were back on land. Like how everyone else is different now that they have their memories back.”

“More myself you mean.”

She nods. “Yeah.”

Self-doubt continues to tug at his stomach and so his words fall clumsily from his tongue. “And that- that is okay with you?”

Her smile pressed against his lips answers his question for one breathless moment before she whispers, “Nothing changes how I feel about you.”

There is one more thing to tell her, of a dagger dripping with blood, but before he can give her the full picture of his character she continues in a lighter tone, pulling back to look around the ship again.

“So this is where you did all of your swashbuckling back in the day? Must have been boring to go from that to a life on the right side of the law.” Emma turns and raises one sarcastic eyebrow. “But I guess with the Evil Queen as your boss you could break any laws you wanted.”

Killian frowns. “Are you suggesting I am not a man of honor?”

“Well no, I just-”

“I was not always a pirate, love.”

She steps toward him again, apologies in her eyes, and finds his hand with her own. “What were you before that?”

He feels his jaw clench and struggles to maintain eye contact. “I was a lieutenant in the King’s Navy until he sent my brother and I on a mission to find a poison to kill his enemies. I could no longer to be loyal to the man who killed my brother.”

“Killian.” Her other hand cups his cheek. “I am so sorry.”

His eyes close and he presses against her soft palm. “So you see,” he whispers, “there is nothing I hate worse than a corrupt monarch. Regina may have made me sheriff, but she never had my full loyalty.”

She kisses him again, softly, and his heart has been strengthened twice by her in these few minutes. He deepens the kiss, tasting the mint of the toothpaste she leaves at his house and the chocolate of her morning drink. It is difficult indeed to pull back and return to the poor excuse for work they are supposed to be doing.

 

* * *

 

“What is it?”

Emma’s shoulders are back and her head is high as they face the purple smoke making its way towards them at the center of Storybrooke. She is ready for a fight and Killian feels a surge of pride that she is claiming her own title as Savior. But the smoke is ominous and as soon as the loud mouthed dwarf called them onto the street and he caught sight of it, something prickled beneath his skin, in warning, in recognition.

“It is magic, love,” he breathes.

“Magic?” she asks. The prince and princess step on either side of them, their own eyes trained on the forthcoming chaos. “How do you know?”

Killian turns and clutches Emma’s shoulder, forcing her to look at him. “In the Enchanted Forest I was known as Captain Hook but shortly before the curse took us from that place I killed a man called as Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One. In doing so, I took his place as the Dark One.”

“You- you killed Rumplestiltskin?” Snow White speaks over his shoulder with a tone of shock.

Killian looks at her, briefly. “Aye.”

There is fear in the woman’s eyes, something he has never seen directed at him in all their years of living and working in this small town. It is something he will have to get used to, as magic invades the town and the darkness returns to him.

“So what does that mean?”

Emma, getting to the point as always, jolts him from his self-pity. “This means that I may change. The darkness will return to my heart. I shall get my powers back. I will become deadly.”

She wraps her arms around him and he breathes in her scent, perhaps the last time he will trust himself to be this close to her. “I trust you, Killian,” she whispers. “I believe in you. You won’t hurt us.”

And it is in her arms that the magic rushes over them. The darkness returns, prickling the surface of his skin, making it tough, thick, impervious to attack. But the magic is strange here, untested, and it is almost more terrifying than on the ancient dirt of the Enchanted Forest.

“I have to go,” he murmurs against her shoulder. “Let me go so I can keep you safe.”

Her lips are on his cheek and then her arms loosen and he disappears into thin air.

 

* * *

 

She has been staying at his home near the center of town, the one Regina placed him in, with the big front porch and the tiny kitchen. Emma has been sleeping on his bed and showering in his bath and the drawer he offered to her a few weeks ago is full of her shirts and delicate underthings. He imagines that if he stays away much longer she will annex the entire dresser with her clothes, something he would be happy to offer her. He appears in the house after three weeks of living in the tiny cottage by the shore he wishes Regina would have given him - one room, rustic, but filled with the scent of the sea. It takes all of the three weeks for him to learn the darkness again, to come to terms with the way it flares to life suddenly and the hot temper that makes his heart pound and his finger itch to destroy something.

The darkness tries to tell him to take over Storybrooke. It tells him he will rule better than Regina ever did. And it warns him that Emma and her parents and those  _hero_ types are not cut out for leadership either. When the darkness tells him that, he knows it is lying.

It takes him three weeks to feel like himself again, although he knows that he is neither Captain Hook nor Sheriff Jones anymore. Not really.

He is the Dark One.

But it is safe now, in the middle of the day. Emma will be at work and he can get a few of his things. Creature comforts, really. He hopes that some of his favorite books will help soothe that savage beast blazing inside of him. Killian has just crouched over in front of the bookshelf when he hears the front door open and cautious footsteps echo in the living room.

“I know someone is here. You picked the wrong house to trespass. This is Sheriff Swan. Come out with your hands up.”

He could leave, disappear without a trace and she would never know the difference. But he is tired of hiding, of keeping away from her. He misses her, dammit. He misses her soft smiles and her fierce gazes and the way she has changed his life for the better.

“Sheriff Swan?” he asks, standing up and peering over the couch with a lazy smile. “Does this mean I am out of a job, love?”

“Killian?” He is relieved that she lowers her gun, although her her gaze is still narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

“I do believe this is still my house. I came to collect some reading materials.” He gestures with his hook to the bookcase behind him.

“Were you just going to sneak in and sneak out without telling me?”

Killian steps around the couch, closer to her, selfishly inhaling her sweet vanilla scent. “Honestly, Swan, yes.”

“Why-”

“For your safety.” His hand finds her hip, digging his palm into the delicate bone, and he runs a line of kisses along her forehead. “I have been staying away for your safety, Emma.”

Her voice is breathy and he can feel her heart, beating in time with his own. “We could use your help, Killian. Regina brought back magic and now she is trying to bring her mother over from the Enchanted Forest.”

_Cora._

_No._

His body goes stiff and he pulls away slightly, looking down at her closed eyes and parted mouth. He wants to kiss that mouth, and those eyelids - he wants to kiss every part of her. But the thought of Cora and the horrors she could inflict are like a bucket of cold water.

“You cannot let the Evil Queen join forces with the Queen of Hearts.”

Her eyes open and the moment is ruined for her as well. “No we can’t. That’s why we need your help.”

It only takes him a moment to come to his decision. Killian removes his hand from her hip and lifts it up in the air, the summoned object appearing in an instant. The jagged angles and the sharp script are at contrast with his comfortable home and the intimacy of this moment, but this is a life he lives now, one of contradictions. Against the wishes of the darkness inside of him, he places the dagger in her hand.

“I will be of no use to you now, love, until I have more time to tame the darkness. But if Regina succeeds and Cora makes her way to Storybrooke, if you hold this dagger and call my name, I will come to your aid and do whatever I must to keep everyone safe.”

Emma examines the strange weapon and her brow creases when she sees his name emblazoned across it. “What is this?”

“This is what the darkness inside of me is most afraid of. This dagger is the only thing that can control me and the only thing that can kill me.” He wraps his hand around hers and tightens her fingers along the hilt. “Protect it well.”

Her eyes meet his. “Are you sure?”

He nods. “Aye. You shall keep it safe, of that I am certain.”

 

* * *

 

“Oh you foolish girl. Don’t you know? Love is weakness.”

Cora’s arm thrusts into Emma’s chest and it is like he is back on the Jolly Roger with Milah again, as though no time has passed at all. He struggles against the magical bindings holding him down, against Regina smirking at him and taunting him. Cora will take Emma’s heart just as the crocodile took Milah’s and there is nothing he can do about it, despite his new powers. History is repeating itself in the worst way possible.

But the witch does not pull a gleaming heart from Emma’s chest. Her elbow jerks back and Emma’s whole body jolts with the motion.

“No,” Emma says, voice low but carrying in the chaos. She makes eye contact with Killian and smirks and history is being re-written in new and wondrous ways. “Love is strength.” A white beam erupts from her body, sending Cora backwards and knocking Regina out.

“What was that?” Killian asks when he drops to the ground, no longer held up by Regina’s magic.

“Hell if I know,” Emma gasps.

 

* * *

 

He feels it again when they make love that night, her white, light magic seeping through his tough skin and reacting against the darkness within. She is all greed, all eagerness, all passion, while his darkness is sated by gentle caresses and the barest of touches. When she falls apart beneath him the magic licks at all their points of contact, taking him higher, taking him along with her, bringing all the lights in the room to life and extinguishing them with the tinkling of shattering bulbs.

“What was that?” she asks, chest heaving, slick with sweat.

“That is what happens,” he whispers, smirking against her neck, “when darkness makes love to goodness.”

 

* * *

 

Henry gives his mother a peck on the cheek, steals another couple of Killian’s fries, and scampers out of Granny’s to visit his adoptive mother, excited about the newly re-instated visits to Regina’s in the wake of Cora’s confinement and the mayor’s apologies.

“That is quite a son you have there,” Killian chuckles, watching the boy skip away.

Emma leans against his side and sighs. “I know. He’s just like his father.” She stiffens immediately, as though she let something slip, and her eyes train back on his french fries to take some for herself.

“What was he like? Henry’s father?” Emma has never spoken of the man and Killian has never pushed, particularly after the darkness returned. The darkness is a selfish thing and even being away from Emma as they patrol separately makes something flare within him.

“He was..” Emma pulls away a little. “He was a thief. Like I was. We met when I was stealing the bug. He was in the backseat.”

“You stole a man’s vehicle while he was inside of it?”

The corners of her lips turn up and she raises an eyebrow. “First of all,  _pirate_. Second off, it wasn’t his car.  _He_ had just stolen it earlier that day.”

Killian laughs and her shoulders loosen a bit at the sound. “So when you claimed Henry was just like his father you were speaking the truth.” Emma rolls her eyes. “A bit like his mum too, eh?”

She shoves his shoulder playfully and takes more fries. “ _Anyways_ , we ran around a bunch running cons and stealing whatever we could. It worked well for us until I got caught trying to sell some watches he had stolen. I landed in jail and he got away.”

“What happened when you were released?”

Emma’s shoulders tense again and she bites her lip. “Nothing. I never saw him again.”

He feels a clenching of his heart and a flame of fury come to life in his stomach. “But surely you two corresponded while you were in-”

“Nothing, Killian, okay? I said  _nothing_.” She wriggles a bit in her seat, eyes darting around the diner, and had she chosen to sit on the outside of the booth he imagines he would be watching her leave abruptly.

“Emma.” He cups her cheek with his palm. “I am sorry that happened to you.” The muscles of her jaw are as tight as a bow and her eyes still refuse to meet his. “I am so, so sorry.” He kisses her temple and wishes that it would erase the pain coursing through her system.

“It wasn’t the first time I was left behind,” she whispers. “And it won’t be the-”

In a flash, he pulls away and grips her chin with his fingers, forcing her to look at him. “You listen to me, Emma Swan,” he cuts in, “no one is going anywhere. Do you understand, lass? No one is leaving you, least of all me.”

She nods, slightly, and he releases his hold on her. Killian tucks her under his arm and lays his head on hers. “Does he know he has a son?” Killian whispers after a moment.

“No.”

“Do you- do you think he should?” She hesitates for a long, agonizing minute. The darkness wants him to keep Emma all to himself, but he is slowly learning to quiet that voice in favor of calm reason. “If I had a child out there somewhere, I would want to know.”

She sighs again and burrows closer against him.

 

* * *

 

  
Meeting Henry’s father and Emma’s former paramour had never been an occasion Killian assumed would go  _well_ , but a punch in the face is hardly the awkward greeting he had expected.

“Bloody hell,” he sputters, laying his hand over his warm cheek and trying to tame the darkness under his skin itching to attack the stocky, glaring man just introduced to him as Neal. “What was that for?”

Neal flexes his fingers and his frown deepens, the most unhappy sight this sheriff’s station has seen in months. “Can’t you stay away from the women in my life, Hook?” he growls.

Killian blinks a few times, staring at the man several seconds before he places the brown eyes and round face. “Bae?” he asks.

The man grunts. “I go by Neal in this world.”

“Bae,” he says again, one corner of his mouth turning up. That side of his face must not realize that he is also feeling guilt over taking the boy’s mother from him and sending him to his fate with Pan. For killing Bae’s father he feels no regret - the darkness will not let him. The world is better without the crocodile in their midst.

“So how long before you throw out Emma like you threw out my mom?” Bae asks, an ugly sneer across his face.

“Neal!” Emma has her motherly chastisement face on and she looks liable to wallop the man for his poor behavior. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you, Ems?” he bites back. “This guy fucked my mom for years and then he got rid of her like she was nothing.”

Killian’s hand curls into a fist and he can feel tiny sparks spitting out from his skin. “You are wrong, Bae. I loved your mother a great deal. It was your father who hurt her - your father who killed her after he became the Dark One. He killed her for leaving him.”

Bae storms out of his office without another word, trailed by a woman with dark skin and cool, assessing eyes. Emma looks flummoxed by the whole affair.

 

* * *

 

In the captain’s cabin of the Jolly Roger, Emma finally breaks down over Neal’s death, shaking in his arms and her tears warm against his neck.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffles. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional.”

“Hush, love,” he whispers in response, running his hook up and down her back and rubbing his thumb along her hipbone. “It is okay to cry. You loved him greatly - still love him, I am sure.”

Emma lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry.”

The darkness snaps in his chest like a chained dragon but he tells it firmly to be quiet. “Nothing to be sorry for.” When her sobs turn to steady breaths, he untangles their limbs and reaches for a sheath in his wardrobe. “Take this, Swan,” he commands with a half-hearted smile. “It was Bae’s. It is only right you use his cutlass to get your son back from Pan.”

 

* * *

 

“You seem different than when we last met, Hook.”

Pan’s lilting tease freezes Killian in the act of tipping his flask, the solitary vice he has allowed himself since the return of his powers. Killian takes a swig of rum and licks his lips before responding.

“I have grown more dashing. Flattered you noticed.”

The demon chuckles, a dark sound, and Killian finally turns for his first face-to-face with his old enemy since returning to Neverland. Pan opens his mouth for a retort but Killian holds up his arm and closes his fingers together, magic wrapping around Pan’s throat and choking him.

“Or perhaps you noticed that I am now the Dark One.”

The boy’s eyes grow wide and he claws at his neck, at fingers that are not there. Pan closes his eyes and Killian can feel his magic being pushed back, Pan fighting his powers. With a gasp, Pan takes a deep breath of Neverland’s humid air.

“So you succeeded,” Pan laughs hoarsely. “You killed Rumple and became the Dark One.” His eyes flash with rage, something of which Killian has never seen the like. “Pity Emma will never be able to truly love the man who killed her son’s grandfather.” His palm runs along his smooth, long throat, as ageless as ever. “When she returns to Baelfire, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Killian’s heart catches. “Bae is dead,” he says harshly.

Pan grins. “Oh no he isn’t, Captain. He is here on this island. And I have him all wrapped up and safe for you in Echo Cave if you want to pick him up and deliver him to Emma. She must miss him so.” The demon disappears into the darkness of the jungle and the darkness overwhelms Killian, filling him with rage and terror and the need to destroy destroy destroy.

He cuts a fierce path back to camp, not caring where or not Lost Boys hear him and come at him with arrows dripping with nightshade. Death would be better than this pain, better than this fury.

“Killian?” Emma is looking at him with concern from the opposite side of camp but relief at seeing her is not enough, not by half. He strides across the clearing, careful to cup her head as gently as possible before he slams her body against a tree, pinning her to the bark with his hips and his mouth against her own. He needs her more than he has ever needed her before and neither the company of her parents nor Regina will stop him from seeking entrance to the soft warmth of her mouth or from sliding his tongue against hers or pulling back with her bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“Killian?” she is limp in his arms when he finally pulls away, her eyes dim, and he wonders if he has transferred some of his darkness to her as he drew lightness from her well of magic.

“I am sorry, Emma,” he breathes. “Pan just visited me and he filled me with self-doubt.”

Emma smooths the fine hairs back from his forehead and gives him a half-smile. “So you’re saying you needed an excuse to kiss me?”

Her goodness is infectious and he kisses her again, gentle this time, this thumb brushing the apple of her cheek. “No,” he whispers when she pulls away. “I have never needed an excuse to kiss you, Swan.”

Emma grins, cheeks pink and head tilting slightly. “Good.”

Killian turns, hook slipping around her waist, and faces the other members of their party. “Pan just came and told me something. It may be a trick or it may be the truth.”

“What did he say?” the prince asks, hand reaching for his wife’s.

Killian gives Emma a long, searching look before he replies. “He told me that Neal is alive and he is on the island.”

 

* * *

 

“Consider this the moment of truth. Literally.” Killian pauses, rubbing the bridge of his nose and sighing at the bewildered expressions on his companions’ faces. “There is only one way to find out how this works.” He clenches his jaw and opens his eyes, looking straight at Emma.

“I am afraid that this curse - being the Dark One - means that I am unable to find love. Most days I worry that I will hurt you or drive you away because of selfishness and greed. I do not know if I am strong enough to keep the darkness at bay.”

The ground shakes beneath their feet and a bridge begins to form between them and Bae. Emma’s eyes are wide and Killian’s heart is heavier and lighter at the same time.

 

* * *

 

Pan is a poor imitation of himself as the island grows dimmer, Neverland’s magic draining from both the boy and the place. Regina shouts at them to make haste in escaping the collapsing hellhole, Pan’s shadow filling the sail with its dark magic and taking them away from both the boy and the island forever.

Killian is relieved that Neverland will be no more. Perhaps his centuries of floating around and traversing the cursed place shall no longer haunt his dreams.

Emma wraps her arms around his waist from behind and he sighs, leaning into her embrace.

“I can’t wait to be home again,” she mutters against the back of his neck.

“Me neither, darling. Me neither.”

* * *

 

He is in the sheriff’s office, filing paperwork, watching Emma smile at her phone at another photo of a onesie her mother has sent her when he feels the tug, somewhere deep in his gut, and the prickle go down his spine.

_“Dark One, I summon thee.”_

Killian stands, his hand clenching into a fist as he struggles to stay where he is, if only for a second more.

“Killian?” Emma’s eyes are scared and he wants to soothe her fears. All he can do instead is gasp out four words before he disappears.

“Someone took the dagger.”

And then he is gone.

 

* * *

 

Being locked in the cellar is not as bad as being sent to do Zelena’s bidding, but it is close. He has time here, to sit, to think, to consider how disgusting he smells, to wish that he could have stopped this new witch when she requested that he release Cora from her bonds under the Storybrooke library. Zelena is bad enough but with Cora by her side the citizens of Storybrooke are harassed daily. And he is a part of that, tasked to do whatever Zelena wills.

The first time he sent Emma flying into the air he tossed and turned for hours on the cell’s dirt floor. It was a scene from his worst nightmare come to life before his eyes.

The cellar door opens and he shrinks back from the light like the creature of darkness and filth that he really is.

“Today is the day, pirate,” Zelena chirps, her footsteps echoing down the steps, the heels of her boots clacking merrily. “Today is the day Mother and I change the past and we change our fate.”

Cora appears behind her eldest daughter and her lips curl into the closest approximation of a smile she seems capable of. She rests her hand on Zelena’s shoulder and it is comical how little she resembles a mother. “If you are a good boy,” Cora taunts, flicking her wrist once to open the cell door and a second time to send a flash of electricity to his lips, “we may even let you kiss your girlfriend.”

He understands what Cora means scarcely an hour later when her wrist flicks a third time and he flies headfirst into a water tank. Killian squirms frantically to get his head above water, to take a deep breath and keep the darkness from blocking out his vision, but as long as the pair of witches hold the dagger he is powerless against them.

The next thing he knows is Emma’s soft hand supporting the back of his head and the curtain of golden curls tickling his damp cheek. It is her, his love - he would recognize her in a thousand lives. For a terrifying moment he wonders if he has died and this is the world beyond, held in a heavenly embrace. But that would mean that Cora or Zelena is the new Dark One, and the magic thrumming beneath the surface of his skin tells him that is not the case.

But there is no responsive call from her light magic and when he spits out water it slides over lips that have returned to normal.

“Emma,” he gasps. “Emma, they took your magic from you.”

She bows her head and brushes her lips across his forehead. “I know,” she whispers. “I feel it too.”

“But without your magic-”

“I know. We’re screwed.”

 

* * *

 

The floorboards creak in the dead of night and he sits up, heart racing, flashbacks to months of imprisonment tearing through his brain until he recognizes her scent and the feeling of her light magic in the room.

“Emma? What time is it, love?”

“Late.” Not bothering with the light, he can hear the faint sound of her clothes falling to the floor as she makes her way to the bed. “I was with Regina.”

Her arse brushes against his hip and he turns, tucking her body against his and trying to hold the darkness back from leaking into her. She is sorrowful enough. “How is she?” he whispers.

“How would you be if you had killed your mother in the heat of battle?”

“I would feel like shit.” His thumb rubs along her hipbone. “But then again, my mother was a saint.” Emma is quiet, her mind obviously still with Regina. “It was not her fault, love,” he continues. “Cora was about to kill Robin. Regina was acting out of instinct.”

Emma’s head moves against his arm. She is nodding. “I know. I would have done the same.”

He can feel his heart catch in his throat. “You would have?”

She turns in his embrace, her arm wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer, her lips brushing against his own. “Of course.” She rubs her center against him, the gentle rocking awakening other parts of him, and he turns to putty in her hands. “I love you, Killian,” she whispers.

He pulls on her knee, hitching her leg over his hip so he can enter her softly, slowly. “Emma,” he breathes into her hair, inhaling her scent and closing his eyes at the bliss of her surrounding him in every way, her light accepting his dark. “I love you so.”

It is as it always is. Her light does not make his darkness disappear. When she runs her fingers down his back and bites down on the place where his shoulder meets his neck, he becomes darker than he ever is when practicing his magic and getting a handle on the power. But the darkness does not feel so bad when she glows in his arms, head thrown back in ecstasy and whispering her adoration.

It is  _his_ name she says as she shatters around him. Not  _Captain Hook_  or the  _Dark One_.

Just  _Killian_.

And so Killian he becomes. 


End file.
